


Moving On

by ohnoscarlett



Series: WWII pilots [2]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Unintentionally cheesy sex. In the WWII'verse (My Wings Have No Feathers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-04
Updated: 2010-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-01 05:46:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10915557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnoscarlett/pseuds/ohnoscarlett
Summary: The continuing adventures of our boys after the War.  Ryan is still being intractable.  Spencer and Jon and Brendon are moving on as best they can.





	Moving On

**Author's Note:**

> The continuing adventures of our boys after the War. Ryan is still being intractable. Spencer and Jon and Brendon are moving on as best they can.  
> Notes/Warnings: Unintentionally cheesy sex. In the WWII'verse (My Wings Have No Feathers)

**Title:** Moving On  
**Author:** Cara ([](http://ohnoscarlett.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://ohnoscarlett.livejournal.com/) **ohnoscarlett** )  
**Rating:** NC-17 (Jon/Spencer, Jon/Spencer/Brendon)  
**Words:** 2220  
**Summary:** The continuing adventures of our boys after the War. Ryan is still being intractable. Spencer and Jon and Brendon are moving on as best they can.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Unintentionally cheesy sex. In the WWII'verse [(My Wings Have No Feathers)](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/11592.html#cutid1)

_Las Vegas, 1945_  
  
The second Great War started two days after Ryan's eighteenth birthday. It ended on Spencer's twenty-third. Six years. Six long years it swept them along; took them to the ends of the earth. Showed them wonders and horrors alike. And brought them, strangely enough, their livelihood.  
  
The Civilian Aeronautical Board was entrusted with safety rulemaking, accident investigation, and economic regulation of the airlines. The Western Division, based in Vegas, was not quite so good at this as they should have been. The desert flyboys, well... they flew their planes in a crazy air show and amused the children. Harmless, right?  
  
After World War II began in Europe, the CAA launched the Civilian Pilot Training Program to provide the nation with more aviators. And so there we are: more aviators. The problem, inasmuch as it is a problem, is that in the rapidly growing West, there was little legitimate civilian avionic activity to be had. Airshows were perfectly acceptable forms of entertainment and respectable employment for multitudes of young men during down time. And when the airlines had need, there they were.  
  
Las Vegas was a boom town. Buildings were going up left and right since the construction of the Hoover Dam had been completed in '36. It had been intended as a source of water for the arid West, but it had the unintended consequences of resident migration, and, oddly enough, tourism.  
  
There was also the air base. Technically, the air base was there to house the Army Air Force Training Command, 82d Flying Training Wing, but there was plenty of room for other uses. Uses like the CAB. And the air show. After the War, the boys in Vegas had plenty to do.  
  
And we're not even talking about the Strip.  
  
***  
  
They called it the Clandestine Airshow because it was Vegas. Things in Vegas had to have a seedy underbelly, a vaguely inappropriate, if not downright naughty atmosphere. "Clandestine" fit that need perfectly. Should you be there? Probably not.  
  
The airshow was owned by an Army veteran, Zack Hall. Not everyone who worked for him had been in the War, but most had. Zack understood, like few others, what it was like to come back and not know what to do with yourself. Zack gave them something to do, something they understood. And it didn't hurt that he flew his own bird right along with them.  
  
Zack had flown helicopters in the South Pacific.  
  
Helicopters were great for purposes of the air show. They were still pretty new, having only been in production for a few years, and most of that in military service overseas. Not a lot of people had really gotten a chance to see them. They were a big draw. There was a mysteriously sexy appeal, that Zack only built upon. Sure, he had mostly flown parts from place to place for aviation repair units, but he had also done his fair share of daring combat rescues, and medevac.  
  
***  
  
Ryan had been the first of them to discover the air show, but Brendon hadn't been far behind. They could see something going on across the airfield from where they worked at the CAB. It was only a matter of time until curiosity overtook them and they wandered over to investigate. Zack saw them for what they were and immediately put them to work.  
  
Ryan led a crew of a B-29. And Brendon finally got his own B-17. They were rickety and temperamental and Brendon couldn't be happier. Ryan remained withdrawn.  
  
***  
  
Spencer and Jon also found themselves places at Clandestine. Zack practically did a dance of glee when they told him they had been fighter pilots. While they couldn't exactly recreate what they had done in the Pacific theater, they were more than qualified to perform aerobatic displays in something of a truncated flying circus. But not exactly. Flying Circuses weren't exactly legal. But they could do spins, dives, loop-the-loops, and barrel rolls. If they were careful.  
  
Zack had managed to get his hands on some of the decommissioned SBD dauntlesses.  
  
The dance of glee was kind of contagious.  
  
***  
  
It took a certain personality to endure the desert, Spencer figured. He couldn't find another reason for why they had been politely rebuffed by all their mates on the Yorktown when they suggested going to Vegas after the War. Even Carrabba, Jon's gunner, had refused them and they had gotten on like a house afire.  
  
It hadn't been the same with the men Brendon and Ryan had encountered. Of their eleven-man crew, eight of them showed up in Vegas within three months. Those who hadn't included Major Chislett, who returned to Australia to continue to serve with the Royal Australian Air Force. He was a career man. And Ryland, and inexplicably Suarez, who remained in England beyond their duties. Nobody knew what that was all about.  
  
They also drew Frank and Gerard, the maintenance crew from the lost _Bunny Marie_. And Alicia, Bunny Marie herself, as it were, and widow to Gerard's brother, Mikey. They had been lost in Jersey, a sad and desolate place for them without Mikey; so they left. Their brothers in arms did their best to welcome them, particularly Patrick and Pete.  
  
***  
Brendon helped Spencer and Jon find an apartment. He had hoped for a vacancy in his own building, but barring that, one was found close by. He also kept to his word and helped them find jobs. Brendon had been correct in assuming that the growth seen in and around Vegas would keep the CAB and the air show hopping. Spencer and Jon were situated in no time at all.  
  
Ryan was conspicuously absent.  
  
It wasn't to say that Brendon didn't see Ryan all the damn time. Oh, he did. They passed in the halls at the CAB. They sat in morning meetings. Their demo birds sat side by side on the flightline. But Ryan never spoke to him; never looked him in the eye. It ate at Brendon like a disease, that he had managed to lose Ryan all over again, and after all that he had tried to make it right between them once more.  
  
He hadn't even done anything! Well, he had, but it hadn't seemed like that big of a deal. Brendon had seen immediately how Spencer and Jon felt about one another. _Love is love_ , he had said, and he meant it. You couldn't choose who you fell in love with, so instead Brendon chose to defend it. Ryan's reaction to that defense had been less than complementary.  
  
So now Brendon spent the majority of his free time with Spencer and Jon. If they weren't at his apartment, he was at theirs. Brendon already adored Spencer; it took no time at all to raise Jon in his esteem as well. They were an affable pair, and Brendon loved them both.  
  
That, uh.  
  
That could be a problem right there. Brendon found himself as often as not sprawled on a couch or the floor with Spencer, or Jon, or the both of them. It was innocent; they talked, they laughed, they listened to the radio. And Brendon longed to touch them. Now, Brendon could keep it in his pants just fine--he had extensive training and experience in the matter. But he _wanted_. Especially when Jon and Spencer slipped and let him see something less than appropriate for mixed company. That didn't happen often, though; they were generally very careful and considerate companions.  
  
Brendon needed to learn to wait for acknowledgement after knocking on a door, and not just offering a perfunctory warning knock and going in. Doing so he probably could have avoided walking in to find Spencer on his knees in his kitchen, Jon pressed back against the counter, mid blowjob. In his defense, they were being pretty quiet about it; he had no way of knowing. That is, until Jon's eyes cracked open and he moaned throatily while his head lolled back and he fisted Spencer's hair viciously.  
  
"Brendon."  
  
Of course he was frozen to the spot. He watched as Spencer's fingers creeped up to frame Jon's hips as he shook. He watched as Spencer sat back on his heels and looked up at Jon with a smirk. He watched as Jon smoothed down Spencer's ruffled hair lovingly, and continued the motion  
to turn his head until Spencer was looking straight at Brendon. He watched as realization shone in his eyes, and then Brendon's body took over and he turned for the door.  
  
"Brendon," Spencer called to him. He shared a quick glance with Jon before he pulled him to his feet. Spencer actually caught him before he was out the door. "Brendon, please," Spencer said. "Don't go; we need to talk."  
  
"I'm sorry I interrupted. It won't happen again," Brendon intoned in the general direction of his shoes, blushing furiously. Spencer didn't respond. He merely grasped Brendon by the arm and dragged him squawking back into the depths of the apartment.  
  
Jon's pants were done up and he was calmly drinking a glass of milk when Spencer released Brendon's arm and he slumped on the couch. Jon and Spencer shared another look.  
  
"Well," Jon shrugged. "That went well." Brendon's eyes widened as his glance flicked between the other two. Spencer sank down beside him.  
  
"I didn't really need to see that. I'm sorry--" Brendon began.  
  
"No," Spencer cut him off. "You did need to see that. You're part of this, Brendon. You're part of us." And Spencer leaned in and pressed his lips to Brendon's. Brendon gasped and Spencer took the opportunity to slip his tongue in his mouth, making him gasp again and moan, for Spencer clearly tasted of Jon.  
  
Spencer reached for Jon, hesitantly breaking the kiss but not moving away from Brendon. Jon shook his head and motioned to a chair a few feet away before sprawling back into it and completely obviously adjusting himself in his pants.  
  
"You guys are gonna kill me," Jon whined. "I need a minute. Go ahead. Move along, move along." Spencer grinned at him before returning his complete attention back to Brendon.  
  
"Ok," Spencer breathed against Brendon's mouth. "I can do that."  
  
"But--" Brendon protested feebly.  
  
"No, Brendon," Jon said firmly, if a little breathlessly. "We want you to."  
  
Spencer didn't wait for him to reply, just took Brendon's mouth again. Brendon moaned again when Spencer began nudging him back onto the couch, and once more when he pressed down on top of him. A broken sound from Jon forced Spencer to pause. They both looked while Jon palmed himself through his pants. Brendon's mouth opened silently.  
  
"God, Brendon, your mouth," Jon groaned. "Bite him, Spence."  
  
Spencer immediately caught Brendon's lush lower lip between his teeth and tugged gently before sucking it into his mouth. He pulled back with a soft pop and moved to bite and suck at Brendon's jaw. Brendon stretched, giving him more access, and ran his hands down the long expanse of Spencer's back.  
  
"Dig in, Brendon. He makes the sweetest noises."  
  
Brendon dug his fingers into the muscles of Spencer's lower back and was rewarded with a sound that could be described by no other way than Sex Noise. It was high pitched and surprised and throaty and growly all at once. So Brendon did it again and was rewarded with Spencer's hips grinding down into his own.  
  
"Get his shirt up, Spence; we need some skin," Jon continued. And as Spencer complied, rucking Brendon's shirt not only up, but off, Jon gasped. Spencer grinned over at him before diving down and licking broadly across Brendon's chest and then flicking delicately at a nipple with the tip of his tongue. Brendon arched under his touch, keening softly when Spencer switched sides and then bit down.  
  
"Pull his hair, Brendon. He likes that. Get your hands right in there," Jon directed. Brendon moved tentatively, tugging until Spencer grunted against his skin. "Not too hard; not yet." Brendon tugged again, gently, with both hands, guiding Spencer's mouth back to his own and holding him there. "Come on, Spence, come on. Move those hips. I know you're hard. I know you want to come. You've wanted to come since we were in the kitchen." Jon's hand slipped down between his legs again, stroking through the material. "Brendon too."  
  
Brendon gasped and bucked up against Spencer. He could feel it, how Jon's words were the truth and Spencer was hard and pressing against him. Jon continued to chant softly, "Come on, Spencer, come on," gasping and moaning alone in the chair while watching Brendon and Spencer rut up against one another not more than three feet away.  
  
One of Brendon's hands slid down to clutch at Spencer's ass and force him to grind down harder, faster. Brendon met him, thrust for thrust until finally--finally--he arched and trembled and came apart in Spencer's arms. Spencer's eyes went wide and he came with a gasp a moment later. When they looked to Jon, he was slumped in his chair, legs spread wide, and looking wrecked. He flapped his hand uselessly at them.  
  
"Ok, come on," he huffed. Spencer squinted at him. "We have laundry to do. Brendon, you're helping." Spencer looked back to Brendon.  
  
"His pillow talk sucks. We have to work on that."


End file.
